


Ten Seconds

by notyourbro



Category: Until Dawn (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, M/M, New Year's Eve
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-03
Updated: 2016-01-03
Packaged: 2018-05-11 07:50:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5619250
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notyourbro/pseuds/notyourbro
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's been a long year.</p><p>(AKA ten snapshots from the year of Hannah and Beth's disappearance.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ten Seconds

**Author's Note:**

> so......this was supposed to be a fluff fic, and then this happened.
> 
> ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> happy new year, folks.

**ten**

It’s fucking cold.

Okay, it’s not that cold, but Josh is wearing a t-shirt on a bus with open windows, and Chris is—of course—perfectly content in his multiple layers. They’re on the bus because Chris’ car has broken down (again), and Josh has been banned from driving _any_ car after ramming his hand-me-down BMW into the garage door (again). 

A gust of air blows in, and Josh shivers. A genuine one, but Chris’ glance slides towards him, and he must know what’s coming before the words are out of Josh’s mouth.

“Can I borrow your hoodie?” 

Chris’ lips press together. “Can you dress appropriately?”

“Not when my best friend is a veritable coat rack,” Josh quips. He smirks a little, and that’s all it takes. Chris huffs an exaggerated sigh, but he shrugs the hoodie off his shoulders and hands it to Josh. Josh pulls it on. It’s too big, of course—the sleeves trail just past his fingers, and it sags around his smaller frame. But it’s warm, and it feels like Chris. It feels safe. 

Chris makes a face that Josh can’t read, and he tilts his head away, looking pointedly in another direction. “You better not pull this shit at the lodge,” he says. “I won’t be so generous when it’s below zero.” 

Josh knows that’s bullshit, and he knows _Chris_ knows that’s bullshit, but he doesn’t push it. Instead, he burrows deeper into the soft fabric and hums gratefully. “I’ll keep that in mind,” he says.  


**nine**

Josh is drunk.

Correction: Josh is plastered.

He’s dragged Chris down with him, and now they’re both in a heap on the couch. They crossed the line from fun-drunk to annoying-drunk several beers ago, and everyone has since left them alone, hauling their less-inebriated selves to unoccupied areas of the lodge. Josh can hear them in the distance, and he’s trying to make out their voices when Chris’ head falls in his lap.

“I am _wrecked_ ,” he says. “This is all your fault.” 

“Most things are,” Josh admits. He looks down at Chris. His glasses are askew, and his hair’s a complete disaster, blonde strands sticking up in a wild frenzy. Josh snorts and considers leaving it at that, but he can’t resist; he cards his fingers lightly through Chris’ hair, and Chris gives him a hazy look. 

“Don’t mess with the fohawk,” he chides. 

“I’m afraid the fohawk is _well_ messed,” Josh says. Chris smiles, muttering a soft “whoops,” and then his eyes are falling shut. Josh shakes him lightly with his other hand. “Hey,” he whispers. “You can’t pass out on me yet. It’s barely midnight.” 

“Bedtime.” 

“Not bedtime. Beer time.” 

“It’s been beer time for, like, _five hours_ ,” Chris whines, sounding like a petulant child. 

“Will you at least come with me?” Josh pleads. Chris squints up at him, and Josh puts on the puppy face. The puppy face never fails.

“Fine,” Chris says. He scrabbles at the couch cushions, trying to pull himself up, and Josh pushes gently on the back of his shoulders. Chris stands—with no small amount of wobbling—and shuffles behind Josh on their way to the kitchen, one of his hands gripping a fistful of Josh’s sweater. 

“I brought my own sweater,” Josh notes. “Are you proud?” 

“Mmm,” Chris says. Josh opens the refrigerator, and he’s just grabbed the neck of a beer bottle when Chris slumps against him, arms wrapping around Josh’s waist. Josh nearly stumbles inside the fridge at the unexpected weight, and he sets his beer on the counter, closing the door and twisting around to face Chris.

“Dude,” he says sternly. 

Chris ignores the warning, nuzzling his face into Josh’s neck. “You smell nice,” he says. “And you look good in a turtleneck.” 

“No one looks good in a turtleneck,” Josh says. His voice is casual, but something besides alcohol is thrumming through his veins. There’s being a touchy drunk, and there’s pressing your best friend up against the fridge.

“You do,” Chris says simply, and then his mouth is on Josh’s. The kiss is wet and sloppy, and it’s not exactly their first but it’s their longest, and it’s the first time Josh feels Chris’ tongue against his own. He doesn’t want Chris to pull away, but he does. He blinks at Josh, looking like he’s woken up from a disorienting dream. “I’m drunk,” he says, as though he’s just realized this. 

Josh licks his lips. “We both are.” 

“Okay.” A heavy silence. “Can I have another drink?”

“Sure,” Josh says. He hands Chris the beer on the counter, and then grabs another for himself. 

An hour later, they’re passed out in the middle of the kitchen.

**eight**

It rains.

It rains as Josh shakes the hands of endless strangers, saying “thank you” until it doesn’t have any meaning, and it rains as two empty coffins are lowered into the ground at his feet. It’s so typical, such a movie moment, that it almost makes him laugh. 

Everyone is here. His parents stand on either side of him (his mom is crying; his dad isn’t). Across the graves are his friends. Chris’ arm is wrapped around Sam’s shoulder; Jess is an absolute mess, and Emily grips her hand, looking stoic. Ashley has lost it too, tears streaming down her cheeks, eyes puffy. Matt’s chin is turned away, like he can’t look, and Mike is visibly uncomfortable. Hands buried deep in his suit pockets, shoulders hunched. Josh wants to leap over the graves and pound him into the dirt. 

He settles for glaring instead.

When the funeral ends, his friends shuffle over, looking sad and worn. Josh feels something prickle inside him, something sharp, but he lets them hug him, keeping his mouth shut. He hasn’t been crying either, and it’s strange to see his friends in this state ( _especially when none of you gave a shit about Hannah’s feelings before_ ). 

Chris hovers until everyone has gone. He steps closer, and their umbrellas clack against each other’s. Chris laughs softly and closes his, holding up his palm. The sky has mostly cleared now, and Chris watches as a few stray drops plop into his hand. 

“Looks like the rain’s stopping,” he says, his gaze shifting upward. 

“Symbolic,” Josh huffs. He doesn’t know why he says it—he’s not feeling any better—but apparently Sarcastic Asshole Mode is difficult to turn off, even at a time like this. Chris looks at him, and then he’s dipping underneath Josh’s umbrella and gripping him in a tight hug. Josh lets the umbrella fall to the ground next to Chris’, still open, and he’s stiff for a moment before hugging Chris back. Josh is used to their sweatpants-and-hoodies attire, and he scrunches his face at the way their suits rub against each other, tight and awkward. But he melts into Chris’ touch, as always, and Chris buries his face in Josh’s shoulder. 

“I’m sorry,” he says. Josh knows what he means. _I’m sorry we were drunk. I’m sorry we couldn’t find them. I’m sorry I haven’t called._

He wonders selfishly if it also means _I’m sorry I kissed you._

**seven**

“How are you feeling today, Josh?”

Well, fuck if that isn’t the most loaded question he’s ever heard. Josh shifts in his chair, resenting the fact that Dr. Hill likes to seat him directly in front of his desk, and he thinks about how he feels.

There’s an ocean inside him. Vast and roaring and _violent_ , it rises from the very bottom of his stomach and crashes somewhere near his heart, coating his insides in something that feels red and sticky. It whispers things, and he tries not to listen. Ups his dosage to quiet the storm, but all it does is make him empty and dull. It doesn’t fix the problem. He doesn’t even know what the problem is.

He looks up at Dr. Hill and shrugs. “Fine.”

**six**

Chris is over again. Chris has been over a lot since the funeral, and Josh wants to be there, but he’s busy trying not to drown. They’re playing _Left 4 Dead 2_ , and zombies are pummeling Josh for the third time when Chris pauses the game. He drops the controller into his lap and turns to Josh.

“Hey,” he says. “Where are you?” 

Josh stares down at his hands. “I don’t know,” he says honestly. 

There’s a moment of silence before Chris asks, “Can I touch you?” Josh nods, and Chris shifts closer to him on the couch. He tugs one of Josh’s hands off the controller and wraps his own around it. Josh can feel Chris’ skin against his, but it also feels like it’s happening to someone else. It feels far away. 

“What’s going on in your head?” Chris asks. 

“I don’t know,” Josh says again, almost laughing this time. 

“Tell me something,” Chris insists. “Anything.”

“You don’t want to know.” 

“If I didn’t want to know, I wouldn’t ask. Come on.” He bumps Josh’s shoulder gently, and Josh musters the energy to bump him back. There’s a long pause, and Chris waits patiently. He occupies himself by playing with Josh’s fingers.

“Static,” Josh says finally. “A lot of…loud static. It’s hard to hear things sometimes. Even you.” 

“Well, that must be a relief,” Chris jokes.

“The _biggest_ ,” Josh says. Chris snorts and doesn’t ask any more questions. Josh should feel relieved that he’s passed this test—that Chris has accepted his answer without judgment or fear, that he’s here at all to ask it. Instead, Josh feels sick. He’s told the truth, but it’s the smallest, safest fraction of a truth he can’t even begin to fathom. It’s wide and deep, the darkest corner of a room blown to the size of a galaxy. Josh can only see what’s right in front of him, but he knows the rest isn’t good. 

He wishes Chris would just leave, wishes he’d left years ago when he had the chance. He deserves better than to be sucked into this vortex.

Josh pulls his hand away. “Sorry.”

“I’m not looking for an apology, dude,” Chris says. “I just miss you.” 

Josh’s mouth twists into a wry smile, and he lies through his teeth. “I’ll be back soon.”

**five**

The pills are orange. Josh pops the bottle in the car and stares at the little round pills, rattling them gently.

“Orange,” he says. “That’s a new one.”

His mom spares a glance at him and purses her lips. “Give them a chance.” 

“Never said I wouldn’t,” Josh says. He closes the bottle and shoves it back into the pharmacy bag. He crinkles it up in his hands and stuffs it into the cup holder between the front seats.

“Josh,” his mom says. Her voice isn’t stern, just weary. It lost its edge sometime after Hannah and Beth’s sham funeral, well after Josh’s did. She rubs a hand over her face, and Josh notices—not for the first time—the bags under her eyes. They’re nearly as bad as his. “If this doesn’t work, we’ll just try another.”

Josh can’t help it; he huffs a dry laugh. “Isn’t the definition of insanity doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results?” 

His mom doesn’t say anything, but her expression shifts from determination to worry, and Josh understands. He’s probably broken the world record for antidepressants tried (and failed), and that can only mean there’s something else wrong with him, something he’s not sure he wants defined. It’s been hovering over them like a specter, and they’re both too scared to look up. 

Josh sinks lower in his seat. “You should just lock me up again,” he mumbles. 

His mom’s head snaps toward him, and Josh has to shout, “Jesus, Mom!” to get her to look back at the road. 

“Don’t say that,” she warns. “You know that’s not what that was.” 

“I know,” Josh says. “I’m just being an asshole, as usual.” 

She says his name again, and her hands clench on the steering wheel. Josh has been full of apologies lately, and his mom is no exception. He wants to tell her he’s sorry for being such a mess; for racking up a huge bill with nothing to show for it; for being the one that survived. _Sorry you got stuck with the worst one, and you’re obligated to act like that’s a blessing._

He keeps his mouth shut instead. They’re silent for the rest of the ride. When they get home, Josh brings in the groceries, kisses her on the cheek, and takes a pill. It’s the best he can do.

**four**

The word comes to him in the middle of the night. It’s sickly sweet, and he can’t believe he hasn’t thought of it until now.

Revenge. 

He rolls it on his tongue for a while, staring up at his ceiling, and then he flings himself out of bed. His blood is singing; it’s been ages since he was this fired up about something, this excited. He clicks on his lamp and rummages around on his messy desk, knocking things over in his haste until he finds what he’s looking for. 

The notebook is at once strange and familiar. He hasn’t touched it since Hannah and Beth went missing, and he flips through its worn pages, his scribbles and doodles. He remembers them, but it’s like they’re from a different reality, another version of Josh he can’t access anymore. 

He turns to a blank page and starts to draw.

**three**

The voices come next. The whispers become shouts, flung from the mouths of people he can see in full color, high definition. There’s no changing the channel, no turning it down. Josh spends a lot of time at his desk now, hunched over his notebook, scouring the Internet for necessary supplies.

 _Good_ , Hannah says, standing next to him. One of her eyes falls out of its socket, plopping onto the table, and she snatches it before it can hit the ground. She pushes it back in and gives him a rotting smile. _They deserve it._

 _You deserve it_ , Beth adds, from his other side.

“I know,” Josh says, because it’s true. The ones who hurt his sisters deserve to be punished, and Chris—well, that's _his_ punishment. Ashley is nice and good and Chris deserves someone like that. Josh is doing him a favor, really. Setting him on the right path. 

It’s what a friend would do.

**two**

“You’re going on a cruise?” Josh balks. His parents look at each other warily before casting him sympathetic smiles.

“Honey,” his mom says. “You’re more than welcome to come. We _want_ you to come. We just don’t…” She trails off, but her eyes sweep over the room, and Josh knows what she means. They don’t want to be in the house. They don’t want to think about his sisters.

“No,” Josh says firmly. “You guys have fun. Merry Christmas.” He storms upstairs and locks himself in his room, even though he’s not allowed to. If his parents notice, they don’t say anything, and they don’t bring up the cruise again.

By Christmas they’re gone, and Josh is alone. His parents have left his presents under the tree, and he opens them in silence, a cup of steaming coffee on the floor next to him.

The doorbell rings, and Josh continues unwrapping, unfazed. The ringing turns into banging, and Chris’ voice comes muffled through the door. 

“It’s me,” he shouts. “Open up.” 

Josh stands and steps a few feet closer. More bangs. 

“I will stand out here all fucking day, man. Don’t test me,” Chris shouts. Josh covers the last bit of ground and opens the door to find Chris’ fist still in the air, poised and ready. He unclenches it and gives Josh an awkward wave. “Merry Christmas,” he says. 

“Did my parents send you?”

“They told me they were leaving, but I chose to come,” Chris says. It comes out without a hitch, and Josh knows he prepared for that question, rehearsed his answer in advance. Josh squints at him, but he steps aside, and Chris crosses the threshold. 

“Nice jimjams,” he comments, eyeing Josh’s flannel. 

“If you’re gonna judge my sleepwear, you can walk your ass right out the door,” Josh says. He gestures outside, and Chris throws up his hands in surrender. 

“Alright, alright,” he concedes. “I’ll lay off.” 

Josh nods and they make their way to the kitchen. Chris eagerly accepts Josh’s coffee offer, and Josh pours the hot liquid into a mug, glancing sidelong at Chris.

“You’re here early,” Josh says.

“Hauled my parents outta bed,” Chris explains, shrugging. He takes the cup from Josh and nods gratefully. “It’s Christmas, so they couldn’t be mad.” 

“I’m sure.” 

They’re quiet as Chris sips, and when he’s done, he looks at Josh nervously. “You, uh—you haven’t been answering my texts. Or my calls.” 

Josh shrugs. “Been busy.”

“Yeah?” Chris asks. There’s no sarcasm, no edge. Just concern. It makes Josh’s insides twist.

“Yeah.” 

Chris nods thoughtfully. “Are you too busy to spend Christmas with your best bro?” 

“I guess I can spare the time.”

**one**

“Why is the ball so small?” Mike asks. “Baffles me every year.”

“Do you get that question a lot, Mike?” Sam asks. Mike punches her on the arm, and Sam smacks his shoulder, and then they’re full-on wrestling on the floor. It takes the thirty-second warning to split them up, and soon everyone is staring at the TV, transfixed. 

Josh can’t believe he’s in Chris’ basement, surrounded by everyone he’s spent the year trying to avoid. As it turns out, though, Chris can pull his own puppy face, and Josh is very susceptible. The ten-second countdown begins, and Josh listens to everyone chant. Chris is next to him, gripping his hand, and when the ball drops, he raises both his arms, pulling Josh’s up with them.

Jess kisses Mike, Emily glares before kissing Matt, and Sam and Ashley exchange a small peck, giggling. Josh is staring at the floor when Chris’ hand tightens around his own.

“Happy New Year,” he says. He turns Josh’s face towards him and kisses him on the mouth, warm and firm. Josh is frozen when Chris pulls back, and Chris rests his forehead against Josh’s. “I’m not drunk this time.”

Josh’s head is spinning. This is a wrench in the plan, and his brain is scrambling for some way to work around this. It comes up blank, and Josh gives into instinct instead, leaning forward to kiss Chris again. 

“Neither am I.”

Chris smiles. His hands are on either side of Josh’s face, and he rubs a thumb gently across Josh’s cheekbone. His eyes are searching for something, and Josh doesn’t know what he finds, but his smile turns a little sad. 

“I can’t fix things,” he says.

“I know,” Josh says. He thinks about everything he’s done the past few months, all the plans he’s made. His heart still picks up at the thought, he still wants to do it, but— “I don’t know if I can either.” Josh glances over at the group and pulls back, rubbing his hands over his face. “I don’t know.”

“It’s fine,” Chris says, soft and patient as ever. He takes Josh’s hands and squeezes. 

“Sorry I’m so fucked up,” Josh says. 

“Sorry I took so long,” Chris counters.

Josh laughs quietly. “We’ve done a lot of apologizing this year.” 

“Yeah,” Chris agrees. His eyes light up with an idea. “New Year’s resolution: Fewer apologies, more kisses. And we stop disappearing on each other.”

Josh fumbles, his face heating up. “I don’t know,” he says. “You deserve better. You shouldn’t be with me.”

“Well, I want to,” Chris says. “So fucking deal with it.” Josh’s eyes go wide, and Chris’ expression turns sheepish. “What do you think?” 

Honestly? It sounds scary and confusing, and Josh is filled with so much noise that he worries Chris will never be able to reach him. He can’t even reach himself, most of the time. But this could be something. This could be a start.

Josh nods.


End file.
